


Blue Ridge Isolation

by mhs0501



Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game), The Walking Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Because that's how I want it to be, Fluffy, Humor, I Don't Even Know, I seriously am out of practice with tagging, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Minor Character Death, My sad attempts at conveying romance, Optimism, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Video Game, Rebuilding, Survival, THIS SHIP NEEDS MORE ATTENTION, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-06 05:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11593890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mhs0501/pseuds/mhs0501
Summary: Matthew and Walter were never the type to worry, even when the dead started walking and they were forced to leave their old lives behind to survive. In the isolation of the Virginia woods, it's almost impossible to tell the world ever ended-- even if they believed it had. How will these two manage on their own in an abandoned ski lodge with visitors piling up and their quiet isolation slowly slipping away?Alternate Ending to Telltale's gameplay, and covers a fair amount of backstory before Season 2 Episode 2.





	1. Last Taste of Today

**Author's Note:**

> This, as stated, will feature an alternate ending to Telltale and what might happen after... I don't really know where this will end up or if there will be the Carver storyline-- I can only guarantee tooth rotting relationship fluff, survival life, and things both relevant and irrelevant to the established plot. I hope you enjoy this story!

It wasn’t so hard to survive.

 

At least, it wasn’t when you were around someone who treated the apocalypse like most people treated a case of the common cold: something inconsiderate, inconvenient, and downright irritating, but overall harmless to their lives and would be nothing but an unpleasant memory in a matter of weeks. 

 

But Matthew had come to expect that from Walter. In the eight years he’d known his steady partner optimism was a pleasant trait to have around and less than common even before the dead had gotten back together and started eating the living. It was something he’d noticed on the few occasions he’d gone to the bars and clubs in Raleigh… the guys there often didn’t last one date before crawling back into their shell over PDA’s, coming out to their family, or just general anxiety Matthew simply didn’t have the patience for when it came to finding someone he could tolerate enough to waste his nights off on his couch with a couple beers. 

 

Walter was different from all of them, so of course it would take more than the apocalypse to pull the rug out from under him, so to speak. He was the one who’d suggested packing their things and finding the lodge. The logic fit like a glove-- it was summer, so there would be nobody else already there, enough food stocked up for the busy seasons, and far enough out of the way that no one in their right mind would intentionally end up there.

 

And so they’d fled amidst the chaos, bags in hand and packed tight on the back of Matthew’s vespa. It was easy enough to escape Raleigh especially considering it had taken time to convince his partner that taking his delivery vehicle was much smarter than the car only a teacher’s salary could afford. 

 

It was one of the sparse times before where Walter noticed his partner’s genius outside of common sense and his dorky trivia when they went to the museum. Of course given the scenario Matthew hadn’t realized his acknowledgement until they’d reached an abandoned barley farm tens of miles north and they’d spent the night huddled in the kitchen eating tomato halves straight from a can. 

 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you Matthew.” He’d acknowledged as he poked his cylindrical dinner with the sharp prongs of his fork. 

 

“I’m just glad we made it this far without any trouble.” He answered, crossing his legs as he shifted a sit up on the warm white tiled floor. “I’d have thought we’d at least have to deal with the owners of this place.”

 

“They probably had the same idea as everyone else in the country-- not that I’d blame them.”

 

“Eh,” Matthew shrugged as he swallowed a biteful of tomato. “They’d probably be assholes judging by the amount of bibles in the living room.”

 

“Maybe so,” Walter countered as he pointed his fork at his partner. “But at least they’re assholes with good taste in canned goods.”

 

Despite the grim outlook that had shrouded the past few days, Matthew actually laughed enough to feel a slight shortness of breath… he hadn’t done that since the time Walter had insisted on dressing himself up for spirit day at his school and donned a shirt that Matthew had infamously demanded he throw out since it featured a very visible picture of his hated grunge cousin’s wedding but was literally the only shirt he had that possessed an inkling of appropriate coloring.   It was only fitting that the roaming dead would have it before he ever had to see it again. 

 

The saddest part was that Matthew didn’t even know why he was laughing. Maybe it was the fact that Walter didn’t enjoy raw tomatoes. Maybe it was the fact that Walter was usually terrible with jokes. Maybe it was the fact that he just needed to laugh about something.

 

That apocalypse certainly seemed to have that effect on people.

 

And sure, it wasn’t particularly comfortable roughing it on the floor out of pointless respect and the fact that the doors weren’t barricaded and had they not found the former occupant’s rifle and several boxes of ammunition they were mere sitting ducks for the dead feast upon, but it certainly could’ve been much worse. Seeing the world end felt like something they never stuck around long enough to actually experience but it was clear from day two Matt’s apartment would be their tomb if they didn’t abandon ship. Being alone in the tranquility of the farmland with your partner by your side was hardly the worst case scenario-- even if zombies were taking over the world one brain at a time.

 

The next morning had been fortunately peaceful with no uninvited guests to the dinner table, and despite Walter’s distian for the abundance of canned tomatoes there were a fair assortment of canned goods hidden in the basement that would keep them fed long enough to reach the lodge. It had seemed safe enough to spend a day poking around and taking whatever they could carry, and civility be damned both of them knew they weren’t likely to find anything this well stocked again, even with their eventual goal in mind. 

 

And, as Matthew gleefully found out, even token assholes had books to spare. From practical ones on gardening and cooking to the classics of Steinbeck and Twain to the set of dusty encyclopedias occupying the bottom shelf. It was hardly comparable to the grandeur of the city’s public library but considering the future it was more than enough to keep him occupied.

 

He’d just amassed two quaint little stacks of useful and nonessential works when he heard Walter curse with a shout and came running. 

 

He nearly shot the rifle straight through the kitchen window before he saw his partner sitting on the floor clutching his foot through his shoe and sucking in deep breaths. Being a highschool teacher he was on a strict regimen of clean cut words despite hearing enough of it to render a sailor deaf.

 

His panic instantly melted into a grin which he tried to hide behind a hand as he slung the rifle onto the counter. Walter noticed his amusement and sputtered through his pain. 

 

“It was just one of those cast iron skillets, Matt.” His eyes went to the one that laid a few feet in front of him. 

 

“Good.” He answered as he picked up the heavy implement, a thought coming to mind. “If it were one of those zombies this wouldn’t make a bad weapon.”

 

Walter rolled his eyes as he stood back up and dusted his pants off. “Regardless, too heavy-- and I should know. We’re better off with that rifle.”

 

Matthew set the skillet on the tiled countertop, surveying the dark skies to the west of the quivering barley field out the window. The day had been rather grey to begin with, but no signs of life were noticeable aside from the hum of cicadas off in the grass and woods. “We still haven’t had to kill one of those things yet.” He acknowledged softly. 

 

“Well we’ll have to at some point, you know. Speaking of which,” Walter walked past his partner over to the kitchen table where the rifle along with a pile of the food they’d scavenged laid claimed but unsorted. “I found this upstairs. It’s not a rifle, but I figured you should have it.” He pulled a rather long and well decorated knife from the table, tossing the object to the countertop. 

 

Matthew would’ve flinched and darted away had he not noticed the case. The symbol on the hilt of the cover was intriguing. Walter surely would have noticed it when he found it. “I sense a history lesson coming.”

 

Walter snorted as he started picking through the dozens of canned and jarred goods. “And risk boring you to death when the dead rule the world? Not a chance.”

 

“Thanks Walt.” He chuckled.

 

Walter seemed to settle as he surveyed the bounty. “Don’t mention it. I trust you found some books to keep you occupied?”

 

“Enough for a week, at least.” Matthew shrugged, tucking the knife in his back pocket. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about canning, would you?”

 

Walter frowned. “Matthew, trust me, my field is history, not home economics.”

 

Well, that was one book off the checklist, at least. “How much do we have in there anyway?”

 

“Well I’m no Algebra teacher, but I’d say we’ve got enough to keep us well fed for a week or so.”

 

“Will that be enough to keep us going for long?” Matthew asked already knowing the answer. Walter frowned again and sighed, drumming his fingers on the lacquered wooden surface.  

 

“We’ll just have to bank on the lodge being fully stocked.” He finally answered. Matthew knew better than to argue when there was no easily spoken alternative. He walked over and looked over the pile of food and smirked, knowing even optimism had it’s few dark spots in Walter. 

 

He clucked his tongue and sucked in a breath. “Too bad we forgot our skis, huh?”

 

His plan worked when he noticed the slight spark in his deep brown eyes and a small laugh overtook his partner. “That’s just too bad. I guess we’ll have at least five months to track down a couple more pairs, right?”

 

Matthew walked around the table and planted a small kiss on Walter’s stubbled cheek. “Right.”

 

The rest of the day was spent exploring the house and scavenging for whatever small things they’d need or want. It might’ve been too much to ask skiing equipment, but at the very least there were plenty of toiletries, first aid supplies and batteries of all sizes. The necessities were still easy enough to spot but neither of them had much of a mental checklist so they both grabbed whatever it seemed like they didn’t already have or wouldn’t have at the lodge. 

 

Neither of them felt particularly comfortable stealing from the rooms that had stickers and washable marker writing on the otherwise pristine white doors… besides-- it wasn’t like they were going to be having kids around anyway. Walter in particular felt guilty seeing the family photos all over the place and avoided the smiling family’s gaze whenever he saw their joyous smiles and adorable stages of life. It was hard enough knowing his students were either dead or undead-- the absolute last thing he wanted to see at a time like this was a well captured senior photo or a cap and gown ceremony. 

 

His partner’s voice rang through the upstairs hall from the small linen closet. “Walt? We don’t need any blankets, right?”

 

He paused as he quietly flipped a photo of beaming adults down on the dresser in the master bedroom. “Try looking for antibiotics!” He hollered back.  

 

“In a linen closet?” Matthew countered.

 

“It’s where my mom always kept extras!” 

 

“Gotcha!” He answered. 

 

Seeing nothing useful aside from the remnants of a hastily packed suitcase left on the bed, all the contents belonging to the fairer sex, Walter moved into the master bathroom and immediately checked the medicine cabinet. 

 

“Nevermind!” He called. “They were in here!”

 

Matthew stuck his head in. “Good find! I got us some towels.”

 

Walter set the contents on the counter by the sink, raising an eyebrow. “What for?”

 

He beamed. “Check the faucets! The water’s still on! Who knows when we’ll have a hot shower again?”  

 

His hand instinctively moved to the faucet on the sink, and gave it a turn. Sure enough to his partner’s words, water streamed out of the spout and swirled down the drain. 

 

He grinned. “I guess we’ve still got a few more hours before the apocalypse really begins.” 


	2. Learning The Ropes

“How’s the book going?”

 

Matthew perked up from his point in the story, deeply entrenched to the melody of 1930’s rural heartland since the very first page. Walter had set his rifle down by the log they were occupying, now empty handed. He folded the corner of the page in and set the book in his backpack.

 

“Fine. I’m guessing hunting didn’t go as planned?”

 

“No.” Walter deflated and sat down next to him. “We’ll get used to it though, I’m sure.” He perked back up with a small grin.

 

“We’ve got plenty of time to learn, and besides-- I’ve still got enough cans for a couple more days.” Matthew reluctantly looked at the bare contents in his pack regarding sustenance.

 

“We’ll split it in a little while.” Walter concluded.

 

“You’re not hungry?” Matthew settled his chin on his palm as he stared at the crackling fire pit, the trees shadowing a subtle and soft magenta sky.

 

“I guess not.” He responded.

 

Since leaving the house they’d occupied and taking all they could, the miniscule details of what they’d been able to carry seemed to matter all the more as they had been camping for the past several days and were losing count of them, only to constantly be reminded of their dwindling supplies the longer they rode towards the Blue Ridge Mountains. Walter had been adamant in taking the rifle into the woods at all their normally established meal times and attempting to the best of his abilities to shoot anything edible.

 

Unfortunately, the only thing he’d managed to scrounge up were some wild stories about how the rabbit managed to escape and leave him with a sizable dent to both his ego and his left hand as Matthew carefully dressed the wound. He’d managed to keep a straight face and steady hands until Walter decided his intentions were solely to keep his partner entertained, even if it meant stomaching the pains of his injuries for a few moments as he elaborated that the animal taunted him by waiting for him to recover from his fall before scurrying off to nowhere.

 

So night after night, they dug into beans, peaches, and tomatoes as their food supplies began to dwindle and neither of them dared establish that perhaps rationing on some days would be a good course of action to take. Neither wanted to admit that the world wouldn’t improve within a fortnight and all the grocery store shelves wouldn’t be magically restocked come one quiet summer morning, Walter especially.

 

Matthew never saw it within his optimistic exterior that the cold calculations were beginning to add up and had done so the moment they’d set up camp the first night, but he had his suspicions.

 

He sighed glumly and looked at the rifle at his side, leaning over and examining it with cautious fingers. Before he’d never even touched a firearm and to the best of his knowledge neither had the teacher. Hell, both had been supporters of _banning_ guns when they didn’t see the need for them in a civilized society, but that didn’t matter much anymore.

 

“You’ve never shot before, right?”

 

Walter shook his head. “I never thought I’d have to.”

 

“We both did.” Matthew agreed. “But like it or not one of us needs to get better at this and no offense but you don’t seem to be improving.” Reluctantly, his partner nodded.

 

“Are you saying you want to take over?”

 

“If it means we get to eat something fresh and preserve what we’ve got now, then yes.” He held the gun up and tested his line of sight with the rifle’s scope, the hazy lines of focus shifting with his movements as he concentrated. “Besides, I was better at darts than you anyway.”

 

Walter felt like pointing out that darts and shooting a gun were probably nowhere near the same skill as the rifle did have a slight kick to it, but kept his mouth shut. If Matthew believed he could get them somewhere with that thing, then he was in no place to criticize him.

 

Things remained silent between them for a minute, the fire crackling. Walter cleared his throat and stood up, stretching his back and walking over to the vespa that was parked and camouflaged under a couple of branches.

 

Matthew turned. “Where are you going?”

 

Walter rummaged through their third bag. “Looking for that pot we found. We should boil some water.”

 

“Okay.” He nodded. “You should take the knife, just in case you run into anything.”

 

Knife quickly in hand, Walter trekked off into the forest in the direction he’d came, weapon and saucepan in hand. It would hardly be surplus, but there were only two of them. Matthew, residing to do something more useful than resume his time in Drieser’s landscape, figured there was something more useful to be occupying his time and rifled through his pack until the familiar title of _Your Prey and You_ graced his eye. It was yellowed and had an odor that masked the smoky scent of the fire with the musty air of old parchment, but learning how to trap things was a skill that was several nights over do and seeing as they lack any rope to try knots it hadn’t proved useful yet.

 

But he figured there would come a good time. It always would, in the end.

 

He barely managed to skim the first paragraph when a scream made his blood run cold and the book jumped from his hands as they snaked around the rifle. It was Walter.

 

He was on his feet and running into the shadows and down the slope towards the direction his partner had gone. The branches tugged at his sweaty shirt and small bushes were haphazardly trampled underfoot. The darkness overwhelmed his vision as he charged with all his might. His foot suddenly caught a damp spot on the slope and within less than a second he made impact with the swampy hill and slide until he connected with the hardened silt of the riverbed. Pain shot through his ankle and he hissed, barely checking for injuries before picking himself up, rifle safely enclosed in his hands.

 

“ _Matthew!_ ” There was in indiscernible growl and clacking of teeth. A walker.

 

The man sprinted to his left, his tennis shoes quickly becoming soaked as the squishy mud of the creek shifted underfoot. The groans of the dead creature and his partners’ terrified cries grew clearer.

 

Matthew didn’t hesitate. He cocked the rifle as the shapes became defined. Walter was soaked to the bone with one grabbing his shoulders and two treading towards him. A still corpse remained half submerged, black blood pooling on the white sand. The knife laid bloodied and abandoned nearby, a head wound to the dead one leaving an even hole in its decaying cranium.  

The first shot left the gun as he pushed out a breath. A splatter of blood came from the abdomen of the larger one as its pale legs dragged through the water. Walter gave the one snapping at him a forceful shove.

 

“The head!” He shouted as the walker stumbled backwards before rearing its head once more. “It has to be the head!”

 

Matthew steadied himself from the kickback, now having a solid, slow moving target. His finger curled around the trigger. “Duck!” He warned as his partner stumbled and wfell back into the water, apparently having tripped on something. He fired, arms strained and weak under the weight.

 

The walker closest to the fallen teacher collapsed in a bloody heap, its neck snapping like a whip as it splashed into the ankle deep water and stilled, dead at Walters feet.    

 

He fired again. The one closest to him faltered with an explosion of rotting tissue. The third one turned around, dead, white eyes glaring aimlessly at the sudden loud noise. Matthew didn’t let a moment pass before adjusting his aim. The bullet sailed through the right end of the zombie’s temple, and it slammed into the ground, little wavelets lapping around its lower end.

 

Walter was pale as a sheet, eyes wide and hollow with fear as his breath struggled to steady. His eyes went from the scraggly, dead corpse less than a foot from his leg to his partner as he lowered the weapon, dropping it to the riverbed as he ran towards him.

 

He sprinted into the shallow water, immediately dropping to his knees as he pulled his partner close in a hug and perched his head on his shoulder for a moment, blinking at the darkening skies as the sun on the hilltop’s edge disappeared beneath the wooded horizon. Walter, still shaken, reciprocated and accepted Matthew’s hand as he quietly broke the hug not breaking his horrified stare.

 

“Come on.” He helped him up and rested his hand on his shoulder as it quivered, softened eyes not leaving his partner as if the moment he looked anywhere else he would be alone for the rest of his life. “It’s getting dark.”

 

With that, they started to walk back the way Walter had came until the teacher stopped. “The knife.” He knelt down to pick it up and flicked the blood from the blade. “You should keep this for now.”

 

His partner shook his head. “You managed to kill one of them before you called me. You need to have something to protect yourself.”

 

“You’ll teach me how to shoot. Tomorrow. Right?”

 

“Walter, there’s one rifle between the two of us.”

 

“And until we find one I’ll practice on our down time.” He concluded. “We both need to learn, and a gun’s much less risky than a knife-- especially with those… those _things_.”

 

“Fine, fine. I’ll teach you.” He agreed, knowing that he hardly qualified as an instructor. “But for now just keep the knife, okay? It might not be the same as a firearm but it’s still an invaluable tool in this world…” He scoffed and started chuckling. “I sound way too much like you.”

 

“I’m glad you do.” Walter smiled and pocketed the knife. “But don’t make it a habit.”

 

“Why the hell not?” Matthew shot him a look with a wishful grin. “If anything more people should be like you. The world would be a very different place.”

 

“Indeed it would.” His partner rolled his eyes. “Optimism and logic can never hurt, but you can’t be me because there wouldn’t be anything worth fighting for if you weren’t here.”

 

“Aw, you keep humoring me.”

 

“I’m serious, Matthew.” Walter countered genuinely.

 

“I know.” He assured. “So tomorrow we’ll do some target practice, maybe eat some breakfast, and keep heading east?”

 

“Onwards until the lodge.” Walter nodded. “Until then tell me more about that book you were reading.”

 

* * *

 

“So where did you say we were heading towards now?” Matthew checked his watch, the slimmest silver hand monotonously ticking away as Walter scanned their map and strolled between his partner and a long abandoned public phone.

 

The wide open fields of hay on either side of the sloped road quivered in the breeze, crispy from lack of irrigated water. The clouds in the sky occasionally obscured the warmth of the mid afternoon sun. The time was 3:46, and Matthew had elected to give his partner a time estimate, to which Walter merely grunted.

 

“You know, take advantage of this when you can.” Matthew remarked as he briefly looked between Walter and his watch. “Sooner or later the batteries on this thing’ll quit working and time’s still something we can’t afford to lose.”

 

Walter sighed audibly from where he stopped his pacing and turned back to Matthew, shooting him a ‘you’re not helping’ glare. To which he could only hold up his hands in mock defense. When Walter got this way he knew better than to prod him and especially when things were still the way they were.

 

“Okay.” He finally answered. “We were on Asher Street, right?”

 

“I think so.” Matthew folded his arms. “That was the last real corner we turned before getting on this road.”

 

“Then there should be a town coming up in a couple of miles. Sylva, I think.”

 

“Do you think we’ll get trouble there?” Was all he could respond with. Despite being more capable than they had been with their best weapon a few days prior, they certainly didn’t have it in them to defend themselves against people yet. They were also down to five cans and three bottles of water and they’d both silently agreed to ration what they had left since Walter had lost the pot that night at the creek.

 

Walter’s eyes faltered a bit as he folded the map back up and walked back to the vespa where Matthew was leaned against comfortably. “As long as there’s something there for us and whoever’s there doesn’t mind. If there’s anyone. Judging by the dot on the map this place doesn’t seem like it would have anything left.”

 

Matthew grunted solemnly and climbed back onto the driver’s seat. “You got the rifle?”

 

Walter nodded as he took the rifle from its place by the back wheel and strapped it over his back, the improvised belt method working decently enough to warrant using it for such purposes. Both of them quietly hoped they wouldn’t need it in Sylva.      

 

Rather quickly the parched fields began to dissipate at a rapid rate as pines stretched their impressive points towards the pale blue sky, their green needles pulsing in the wind as the couple zoomed down the dilapidated road. The chilling silence and the warmth of the late August air kept both men silent until the lonely green sign on the straight sloped path informed them that their destination was barely a mile off.

 

At the half mile mark, Matthew gently laid on the brakes, the tires slowing to a steady crawl on the hot, dusty pavement. The engine slipped into a quiet humming buzz as the slope began to level out. Two abandoned cars scarred the wooded landscape, their once impressive forms irreversibly tarnished by the loss of their occupants. One of their engines poured thick, foul smoke onto the surrounding tarmac and the other’s interior with covered in blood with a shattered windshield. Walter and Matthew both held their breath as a welcome sign greeted their vision.

 

As did the overwhelming stench of death and decay.

 

The silence was now replaced by the sputtering moans of the reanimated, a variety of all sizes, shapes and colors all blended together into a homogenous mass of shambling, disgusting walkers. They stared with wide, glassy eyes towards everything and nothing all at the same time. The streets were littered with those put down and the cobblestone sidewalks were caked with indiscernible ends of those not fortunate enough to be gone.

 

Matthew turned the key, the engine’s pur abruptly cutting off. Walter removed the rifle. Matthew steadied their vehicle as the two of them dismounted and gave each other similar looks.

 

Riding through or beyond the crowd of deceased was clearly a terrible idea, and the only road not blocked by debris or forest was the one they’d hoped would let them pass. Shooting their way through also wouldn’t work as noise seemed to draw them near and they most definitely didn’t have enough bullets to kill a group of this size.

 

“That cleaners.” Walter hissed. Matthew followed his eyes to the corner of the street where a business remained ransacked and abandoned hangers and clothes littering the sidewalk by it’s shattered windows. The dull neon indicated it’s mundane existence as a laundromat. He nodded. A few dead roamed nearby, only three compared to the mess that was the main street.

 

Slim pickings both inside and out, it seemed, but if it got them through this town than there was nothing left to be said. Besides, there was bound to be a general store or a grocers in a town even this small.

 

Quietly switching places as Matthew took out his knife from its sheath and Walter took to rolling their vehicle behind him, the two crept towards the small, two story building as the few walkers moaned and shambled about aimlessly before them.

 

The first one was easily subdued, the knife slicing into the side of the head and rendering it nothing more than a corpse. The second one snarled before being stabbed through the eye. The final one crumbled soon after.

 

Hopping over the ledge and over the shards of glass, the interior of the shop greeted them with dingy appliances that were no longer of any use and a generous puddle of sticky, dried blood on the once fresh terrazzo floor. Ignoring the sights and sounds from outside, the store itself was thankfully devoid of any walkers.

 

Then suddenly, there was a loud _bang_ of metal on metal. Walter tensed as the vespa inched away from the machine it had inadvertently collided with. The sound was enough to make the two of them jump and the zombies outside to turn their heads in curiosity of their next meal.

 

“Hold it!” Matthew commanded as the walkers easily began to compromise the remains of the plate glass window, knocking over the displays as they stumbled towards the source of the sound.

 

Walter hesitated for a brief second, leaning it up against the side of the washer and pulling his rifle from over his back. Matthew immediately went on the offensive, holding the first walker by the shoulder and stabbing it through the skull before moving onto the second one. His partner took a step back as he aimed out of the crowd and far away from Matthew, not willing to pick off zombies at such a close range to him.

 

The first shot pierced a sign outside before ricocheting off and hitting one in the neck. Aiming steadily, he began picking off the back row one walker at a time while his boyfriend shanked his sixth in a rapid pattern.

 

They barely lasted five seconds before Walter realized that they weren’t going to be able to sufficiently hold them off with what bullets they had left. He switched the safety on and slung it back over his shoulder before calling out to Matthew over the moans of the hundreds of undead.   

 

“We have to get out of here! We’ll never finish them all off!” He shouted.

 

Matthew stumbled as he caught his breath, another falling to the floor. “Pick an exit!”

 

Walter scanned the side walls quickly, a door catching his eye. He ran for it and tried the handle before resorting to shouldering it, easily snapping the weak, simple lock with his size.

 

“Out here!” He held the door as Matthew fell back and dashed out of the room, the walkers quickly filling the abandoned laundromat. Walter followed and immediately slammed the door shut and held it. “Find something to bar the door!”

 

The room they were in was clearly some sort of office, the cold and quiet surroundings hardly preserved in the midst of the tens of walkers quickly shuffling towards them. Matthew immediately began pushing the desk towards the door and within seconds, it was blocked and the sounds of the solid impacts and muddled moanings echoed in the small, dreary room.

 

“Will that hold for long?” Matthew wondered aloud, fear creeping into his voice as the door rattled.

 

“No.” Walter shook his head. “We need to go out the exit.” He pointed for the emergency escape.

 

“But the sound!” Matthew countered as his partner moved for the door, knowing the siren would sound and draw everything within a two mile radius.

 

“We’re out of options, Matt!” He snapped. “We need to move, now!”   

 

With reluctance, he nodded as Walter shoved open the door and true to his assumptions the blaring of the alarm exploded from the doorway. Matthew quickly followed him out and into the world again.

 

The rifle quickly found its way off his back as it’s end knocked a walker back and the sound cut out the moment the door shut. A shot rang out as a gaping hole was torn in its chest and Matthew silenced it with his knife seconds later.

 

Walter sweated bullets as he tallied the shots he had left. Three. He had to make them count. There was a veritable crowd behind the business too-- more ten with additional ones off in the alleys and in two directions. Matthew immediately moved forward, putting down two more as Walter covered him.

 

Another shot was fired at one closed in behind Matthew. Two. A rotting hand grabbed for his ankle. One.

 

He felt something grab his shoulder. A wide jawed walker lunged as it knocked him back and his gun was wedged between the two of them. It’s dead eyes held a disgustingly insatiable vigor as it’s jaw snapped disgustingly at the teacher. His hands pushed against the weak clavicle as bloody spittle began to collect from its open mouth. He struggled to keep its weight off as he heard Matthew’s shout of panic.

 

A bullet suddenly embedded itself in the walker’s skull as it slumped dead and dripping and rolled off of Walter and someone immediately pulled him up. Matthew was with them.

 

“Come on!” The man shouted as he dragged Walter with him and Matthew limped behind, his ankle suddenly catching up with him.

 

“Fucking seriously?!” Another voice sounded to his left as the owner appeared to be offering him a hand in a hasty manner.

 

“Who are you people?” Walter could barely ask as he ran with the man who’d saved his life.

 

The man continued onwards towards another door, throwing it open as the dead and the other two trailed behind as fast as they could. “We’re survivors.” He stated bluntly as Matthew and the other person, a small young woman, passed them into the building.

 

He slammed the door shut. “Welcome to Sylva.”


End file.
